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his main subject; and, as an example of his best manner, we subjoin what he says of that kind of avarice, which he personifies as usury :

Upon the benche sittende on high

With Auarice Vsure I sighe,`
Ful clothed of his owne sute,

Whiche after golde maketh chase and sute

With his brocours, that renne aboute

Liche vnto ratches in a route
Suche lucre is none aboue grounde,
Whiche is not of tho ratches founde.
For where thei see beyete st‹ rte,
That shall hem in no wise asterte,
But thei it driue in to the net
Of lucre, whiche Vsure hath set.
Vsure with the riche dwelleth,
To all that euer he byeth and selleth
He hath ordeined of his sleight
Mesure double, and double weight.
Outwarde he selleth by the lasse,
And with the more he maketh his tasse,
Wherof his hous is full within:

He recheth nought be so he wyn,
Though that there lese ten or twelue,
His loue is all toward hym selue,
And to none other: but he see,

That he maie wynne suche thre
For where he shall ought yeue or lene,
He woll ayenward take a bene,
There he hath lent the smal pese.
And right so there ben many of these
Louers, that though thei loue alite,
That skarsly wolde it weye a mite:
Yet wolde thei haue a pound ageyn,
As doth Vsure in his bargayne.

It requires an ear somewhat practised in old English to feel the beauties of such poetry; and, after all, perhaps this specimen is little calculated to recommend an author's productions.

Gower's God of Love is blind; but it is a blind horse, instead of a blind boy :

Who dare do thing, whiche loue ne dare? To loue is euery lawe vnware,

But to the lawes of his hest

The fisshe, the fowle, the man, the best,
Of all the worldes kynde lowteth.
For loue is he, which nothyng douteth,
In mannes herte where it sitte.
He counteth nought toward his witte,
The wo, no more than the wele,
No more the hete, than the chele,
No more the wete, than the drie,
No more to liue, than to die:
So that to fore ne behynde

He seeth no thyng, but as the blynde
Withoute insight of his courage,
He doth meruailes in his rage,

To what thyng that he wol hym drawe,
There is no god, there is no lawe
Of whom that he taketh any hede.
But as baiarde the blynde stede,
Till he falle in the ditche a midde,
He gothe there no man will hym bidde,
He stant so ferforthe out of rewle,
There is no witte, that maie hym reule.
And thus to tell of hym in soothe,
Full many a wonder thyng he doothe,
That were better to be lafte:
Amonge the whiche is withe crafte,
That somme men clepen sorcerie,
Whiche for to wynne his drewrie,
With many a circumstance he vseth,
There is no point, whiche he refuseth.

JOHN GOWER.

A TALE.

Hic contra amori inobedientes ad commendationem obedientie confessor super eodem exemplum ponit, vbi dicit, quod cum quidam regis Secilie filia in sue inuentutis floribus pulcherrime exeius Nouerce incantationibus in vetulam turpissimam transformata extitit, Florencius tunc imperatoris Claudii nepos, miles in armis strennuissimus amorosisque legibus intendens, ex sua obedientia in pulchritudinem pristinam reformauit,

THERE was whylom by daies olde
A worthy knight, as men tolde:
He was neuew to the emperour,
And of his courte a courteour.
Wyfeles he was, Florent he hight,
He was a man, that mochell might:
Of armes he was desyrous,
Chiualrous, and amorous,

And for the fame of worldes speche
Strange auentures wolde he seche.
He rode the marches all aboute.
And fell a tyme, as he was out,
Fortune, whiche maie euery threde
To breke and knitte of mans spede

Shope, as this knight rode in a pase
That he by strength taken was,
And to a castell thei him ladde,
Where that he fewe frendes hadde.
For so it fell that ilke stounde,
That he hath with a deadly wounde
(Fightende) his owne hande slaine
Branchus, whiche to the Capitaine
Was sonne and heire, wherof ben wroth
The father and the mother bothe.
That knight Branchus was of his honde
The worthiest of all his londe :
And faine thei wolde do vengeance
Upon Florent, but remembrance,
That thei toke of his worthines
Of knighthode, and of gentilnes,
And how he stode of cosinage
To themperour, made them assuage,
And durst not slaine hym for feare.
In great desputeson thei were
Amonge them selfe, what was the best.
There was a ladie (the sliest
Of all that men knewe tho
So olde) she might vnnethes go:
And was grandame vnto the dede,
And she with that began to rede:
And she saide, she wolde bring him in
That he shall him to death winne,
All onely of his owne grante,

Through strength of veray couenant
Without blame of any wight.

Anone she sent for this knight,

And of hir sonne she aleide

The death, and thus to him she saide.

Florent howe so thou be to wite

Of Branchus deathe, men shall respite
As nowe to take auengement,

Be so thou stonde in iudgement
Upon certaine condicion,

That thou vnto a question,

Whiche I shall aske, shalt answer.
And ouer this thou shalt eke swere,
That if thou of the sothe faile,

There shall none other thynge auaile,
That thou ne shalt thy dethe receiue,
And for men shall the not deceiue,
That thou therof mightest ben aduised,
Thou shalt haue daie and time assised,
And leue, safely for to wende.
Be so that at thy daies ende

'Thou come ageine with thine auise.

This knight, whiche worthy was and wise, This lady praieth, that he maie witte,

And haue it vnder seales writte,

What question it shulde bee,
For whiche he shall in that degree
Stonde of his life in ieopardie.
With that she freygneth companie
And saith Florent, on loue it hongeth
All that to myn askyng longeth,
What all women most desyre:
This woll I aske, and in thempire
Where thou hast most knowlageyng
Take counseile of this askynge.

Florent this thynge hath vndertake,
The tyme was sette, and daie take:
Under his seale he wrote his othe
In suche a wyse, and foorthe he gothe

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